Lovely picture of the mill from Rosalind S. on Foursquare.
Now it seems to represent some kind of dream—but what kind of dream could that be? A house so huge it required five live-in servants to maintain it; that was usually either too hot or too cold; that held no cozy corners for quiet reading; that seemed to require its inhabitants to be always dressed up and on display….
My place in Louisville is an old farm called Wolf Pen because it lies along Wolf Pen Creek, a few miles from the mansion.
My 420 acres were put together piece by piece, over a long period of time. Eva Lee Smith Cooper was the founder; she came from Tennessee to Kentucky with her three little boys after her husband was murdered—a murder that has never been solved.
Buying ten acres along the creek, with an old grist mill and a cabin, she settled in and stayed there for the rest of her life, with occasional sojourns in Paris; the story has it that once when she was about to leave for the transatlantic trip, her barn caught on fire, but she went anyway.
Her children and grandchildren continued to live at the farm, building various houses, and they continue to love it and frequently visit; but for various reasons, they put the place on the market in the 1980’s.
I’d ridden my mare to Wolf Pen when I was a teenager, crossing under the throughway through an enormous culvert; I was always looking for open country, unfenced wild land. And I found it at Wolf Pen; by then Mrs. Cooper had become a little weary of the sightseers who visited her mill—she ran it, grinding corn meal for the diner on the L&N railroad (her father was president) and was said to keep a shot gun to run off intruders.
She never ran me off, but I passed below her house as quietly as I could, riding beyond the mill on a rocky unpaved road, the old road to Cincinnati, to reach the astonishing triple waterfall that bounded her place.
When, decades later, the farm came on the market, developers immediately swooped in; it is surrounded on all sides by sprawl.
I couldn’t let it be torn up. I couldn’t afford it, either, but managed to buy it and then the adjacent farm when it too came up for sale.
Two and a half decades later, we are again running the mill and will grind our first corn in the spring.
My cabin on the farm is next door to primitive; last weekend when I visited, the temperature hovered around 7 degrees, and the heat had failed. Only stuffing the big stone fireplace with logs every two or three hours kept us from freezing.
My question is: why does a beautiful old farm matter less to many people than the trumped up grandeur of an “estate”?
Wolf Pen is the way many people in this country lived, when we were still agrarian and made do with much less, in the material sense, than we consider essential now. We lived in a few small rooms, we farmed, milled, carpentered, built, ran cattle or horses—managed to survive.
The “estate” and all others like it—and there are quite a few—memorializes something completely different, the life of English country gentry; it represents a dream the American Revolution was supposed to put to rest.
But apparently, it didn’t. We still want to look at TV serials about British upper class life and the servants who maintained it; we still want to imagine—I guess—that we might live that way too.
I know I’m sounding cranky—but I do believe we are on the wrong track when we look to traditions that have nothing to do with the lives of most people in this country, traditions founded on exclusion and snobbery and pretension—the essential ingredients of those houses called estates.
Been there. All that – and holding.
Great memories of the farm. Something magical about it there
Magical place, thanks!
Magical place….beautifully stated, as always.
Very interesting & certainly nothing cranky in last sentence! : )
Well said!
This multidimensional story describes a natural context of various peoples who’ve shared the same land over the years – poignant, penetrating finale – brutally honest & simultaneously transparent!
Thank you for sharing your insightful and charming slice of life. The perspective it gives is delighfully unique. And there’s a lot to be said for crankiness! Embrace it!
“Wolf Pen Mill,” by C. Winston Haberer (1905-1958), Louisville’s greatest native-born etcher.
Thank you for this post…thank you for saving and energizing your piece of history…LOVE your thinking AND could not agree more!!!
Joanne Weeter, thanks for sharing. You and Ms. Bingham made my afternoon. Energized about places that REALLY matter!
Beautiful!
Sallie I was lucky enough to have visited the Coopers in the early 70’s at this special farm. Specifically Rod Cooper. Rod was arguably the most talented dirt bike racer in this region at that time. I was a huge fan of Rod and dirt bike racing. He was made aware of this and arranged for me to visit and watch him prepare for an upcoming race. I was only eleven years old and still remember how humble and gracious the whole Cooper family was. I’m so happy you were able to purchase this beautiful farm instead of developers! When you view the farm from an aerial perspective you will quickly see it is the last undeveloped large track of land in Northeast Jefferson county. Thank you!
So many wonderful childhood memories of Mrs. Cooper and the farm – such a special place!
Thank you for preserving the beautiful land.
Sally, I would love a discussion with you about this, but not publicly. Is there a way to wait e you?
Is there a way to write you?
Yes, the easiest way to write to me is at my contact page – that goes directly to my inbox. -Sallie
https://salliebingham.com/contact/
As a prospect native was known to lament, it was all the “bourbon barons up on the river road bluffs”, that was what they wished to capture (the land with the views) and colonize with their huge mansions. But to me it is in the small still stands of poplar, buckeyes, and others with streams rushing by that I treasured most, those hidden ravines and mossy banks left undisturbed that I most treasured in my ole kentucky home.
Beautuful place. I had the rare opportunity to see this place as a friend of mine was asked to bid the dredging out of the silt. Not sure if it was through the Office for Women or Whom.
He told me a german man worked on the new wheel. Extreme craftsmanship of excellence with tongue and groove.
Some Virginia bluebells stood close by to the buttercup yellow house with white Victorian type spindal architecture on front. Quaint is what i thought.
I toured the 1824 building on Hounz property close by. Its the Wesley Chapel built by two 18 and 19 yr old young men. Drylaid stone building no chinking. 2 fireplaces with keystones. Old doors and hatchet hewn logs. A masterpiece hidden and educational opportunity going to waste.
Rick Springs, Orchard Grass, Willow Creek, Cold Stream are not just subdivision names but the lay of the land topography before the bulldozers came through.
My friend is deceased who took me he had pancreatic cancer at the time. He knew my love of old primitive sites and its still a highlight of my life to have seen this up close. Such a pristine sanctuary among an encroaching populace.
ROCK Springs edit..
Ha Rick was my friends last name.
Beautifully said. I was born into the Chamberlain family and have loved this place on earth my entire life. I’ve grown relatively old by now but I love to tell folks this land calls to my bones. I’ve been fortunate enough to have lived in many places including a 5 year stint in Asia. I’ve never lost my love for this land and the folks here. I so enjoy reading all of this. And yes I knew the Cooper’s when a child. I’m very interested as the developers here approach to old Taylor/ Chamberlain cemetery.. took the golf cart to see it last summer.. And praying the protect the old Shop’s Spring.. enough of my rambling but I do so enjoy your writing